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With a drizzle and a light breeze and no human voices, the weather in April is a little boring and chilly.

Yunzhou is adjacent to the Yellow River in the west, looking at Mount Tai in the east, the mountainous areas and lakes here are equally divided, it can be described as the ancient temple cloud and crane, the tall tree enters the green peak, and it is an indescribable fairyland on earth. It's just that years of conquest have caused the farmland to be destroyed and starvation all over the wilderness, and the beacon smoke has burned this beautiful county into a magnificent cemetery.

Twenty miles southeast of Yunzhou, in the suburbs, my mountains are continuous and cuiwei, winding for several miles, sinking in the haze, and the two are separated by a hundred steps without a trace. "The black ape and the white crane have no roots, and the light moon and the stars are a line of sky" is said to be this Wu Mountain, the cliff is steep, the knife splits and axes to chop, people are in it, only see a line of sky, and there is a sense of pathos in vain.

Xiao Mo has been waiting on this pipeline for three days and two nights, and there is not much dry food left when he came, and the tiredness in the afternoon came up unconsciously, and he suddenly felt heavy. He lay in the corner of the mountain stream, the drizzle was hazy, and the empty Wushan valley seemed to echo into the night.

April was supposed to be spring, but there was no spring, the confrontation between cold and warm, and coincided with this rainy weather, the cold was enough to penetrate into the bone marrow. Xiao Mo was already shivering, subconsciously tightened his clothes, changed into a relatively comfortable posture, and his lazy eyes sprinkled into the distance.

He was born handsome, and he was always unrefined in his dress, and his coarse linen clothes were ragged and soaking wet and sticking to his body. The sword in his hand was so rusty that it was no longer a weapon, and the scabbard was lost in the war in Puzhou a few years ago, and now it can only be wrapped in a coarse cloth to cover his shame, and he can also hang it behind him to swagger through the market.

At the end of the fourth month of the third year of Longde, this was the darkest moment in Chinese history. The prosperity of the Tang Dynasty has become a thing of the past, and the people are powerless to struggle in despair, and all that awaits them is slavery and death. At that time, the world was in turmoil, and the feudal towns were divided, and I don't know if the first awakening of the big dream has changed the dynasty.

After Zhu Youzhen ascended the throne, he used the greedy officials in vain, expropriated violently, and the people were dissatisfied, and Zhu Youzi, the king of Kang, wanted to assassinate his brother Zhu Youzhen and was executed.

The ban on martial arts stirred up the whole martial arts, and it is said that the monks of Shaolin Temple can only eat fasting, chanting Buddha, meditating, and participating in Zen, and even the pigs killed at the entrance of the village are worried all day long, and they are really talking about martial arts. Purebred small traders and hawkers avoid people in the martial arts when they see them, and they are far away and disrespectful, and they can't wait for the eighteen generations of their ancestors to move to Keshao.

He was born in a family of three, his ancestral home was Puzhou, and later moved to Yunzhou. 's father drank heavily all day long and ignored Xiao Mo, and his mother passed away early, and his bones had been scattered with the yellow sand, leaving no thoughts. In Xiao Mo's vague memory, she is the embodiment of the divine, with thousands of faces, and she is incredibly beautiful.

I remember that it was the winter of ten years ago, and when I went to the village five miles, there was a dilapidated Xiang Yu ancestral hall, which was in disrepair and almost collapsed. Since his mother's death, whenever he has good food, Xiao Mo will come to the ancestral hall to give Xiang Yu some, telling his story to this clay figure who only appears in the storytelling, and thinking about his mother.

It was night, the wind and snow were blowing, and he built a bonfire in front of the statue of Xiang Yuni, whispering to the firelight, thinking that he was a hero and cherished a hero. He shivered with cold, his voice was intermittent, he approached the firelight, but he had to keep his distance, all the helplessness was like snow in the sky, freezing all the knowledge of human nature, but how could a small flame melt this indifferent era.

At the same time, the place where the bonfire does not shine is getting darker, but in the deepest part of the darkness sprouts even darker figures. I don't know if it was too old or injured, it groped its way forward, its legs trembling, but it gradually approached, and the sound of trembling could be heard. Suddenly, it rubbed in front of it ghostly, staring in Xiao Mo's direction with its cloudy pupils, sending out a smile of folds.

That kind of look, Xiao Mo still remembers vividly, and can only be described as weird. The pupils without pupils, chaotic unity, too sad and complaining, it seems that the vicissitudes of this life and all the indignation against reality are contained in it, as if boating alone on the sea, looking around the line, indescribable loneliness and loneliness.

Xiao Mo knew that this was an old man with a story.

There was a piercing grinding sound in the old man's throat, and he stretched out his cold hands to caress the outline of Xiao Mo's face. This is the usual way of identification for blind people, and Xiao Mo doesn't dodge, but he feels that these hands are even more piercing than the winter night.

He looked at the strange old man in front of him, who seemed to live in hell, and the lines on his face and hands were too clear in the light of the fire, which showed the weakness and worthlessness of life in this war-torn era. Maybe he is not old, but the wind and frost of the troubled times are too engraved on his face.

Xiao Mo continued to return to the scrutiny of that gaze, if this could still be called gaze. The pupils, which had lost their color, were eroded by the wind and cracked, and the blood that should have been red was spread out like dry ink. I don't know if the old man still had tears when he was helpless, and I don't know if the color of the tears was still clear. Xiao Mo couldn't bear it in his heart, but it shouldn't be sympathy, it can only be said to be understanding and empathy.

The old man nodded frequently, and the corners of his cracked lips slowly rose, "Fine teeth, don't panic, old man, I'm not a ghost, and ghosts should be respected." "The sound was terrible, like the sound of two of the ugliest things in the world rubbing against each other. After a long time, the old man put down his hands and said, "If my kid is still alive, he will be the same size as you." ”

He staggered back, sitting crookedly in front of the incense case with missing legs, his back bent, his head shaking happily, perhaps unable to suppress the long-lost joy in his heart, just like the initial smile, as if a judge was disdainful and ridiculed of the troubled times, with the love and pity of an elder.

He wasn't as serious as he looked, and there was a playful look in the corners of his eyes. The scruffy beard gives people a greasy feeling, and the gray color seems to show his lost youth and the peace of heart under the dirty shell.

"Are you a human or a ghost, have you always been here?" Xiao Mo was full of curiosity about him.

"I didn't scare you, old man, I don't distinguish between humans and ghosts, and it doesn't make a difference between living and dying. The old man bowed his head and sighed slowly: "It's been a year, it's been a year in this ghost place." ”

"Are you blind, what do you eat on weekdays?" Xiao Mo asked.

"You see I'm blind in my eyes, but I'm not blind in my heart, wild fruits, wild meat, everything I can eat is eaten, and these miscellaneous pieces you brought, the little man doesn't really think that the clay figure can eat, right?" He smiled heartily, but kept coughing, and Long Zhong's posture was fully displayed.

"Are you from the rivers and lakes?" Xiao Mo's eyes lit up.

"Some people have rivers and lakes, and I am naturally no exception to the old man. His cheeks twitched a little, as if he was talking about emotion, "I am also from a famous family, my family name is Feng, and I have enjoyed the glory and wealth." If you look outside, how many people are starving to death, how many people are dying in battle, you will know how invincible the old blind man I used to be. He turned his face toward the darkness, his sunken eyes like a bottomless abyss. His voice was a little choked, but it seemed ethereal in the wind blowing into the door, the door of the ancestral hall creaked, opened and closed uncertainly, the bonfire was flooded by the invisible air current, the ancestral hall was instantly pitch black, and the sound of the wind was everywhere in his ears.

Xiao Mo listened carefully, for fear of missing the words, the outline of the old man was already blurred, and the flying snow blew from outside the door and scattered on his face and body. He felt that the old man in front of him who was sleeping in the open had a glorious past, and all kinds of past events were like smoke and dust, which had nothing to do with him but were closely related. Under the double blow of reality and memory, the figure of the old man is thin and three-dimensional, Xiao Mo cherishes this sad story, as if cherishing the long-lost flesh and blood affection.

After more than ten years, Feng Blind gradually integrated into this small village. He is hearty, sincere, familiar with all things in martial arts, crazy and crazy on weekdays, and he is open-mouthed, and the people in the village call him crazy.

Xiao Mo likes to deal with this old man, when he was a child, he embroidered his legs with fists and legs, and he stood on the pile and walked on the horse was also shown to him by this old blind man who was not very old, although he couldn't hug unevenly, he wouldn't be hugged unevenly.

A few days ago, this old and immortal old guy heard out of nowhere that the leader of the Salt Gang was getting married and was going to be sacrificed to the head.